


Good Grammar in Bed

by Thistlerose



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Cultural Differences, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nyota attempts to explain dirty talk to Spock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Grammar in Bed

**Author's Note:**

> I've been struggling with this story since 2009. I have no idea why it took so long to finish, but what a relief to have it off my WiP pile! Many thanks to everyone who helped while I was over-thinking things yesterday.

"Do Vulcans talk dirty?"

Spock, who'd been in the act of unzipping his jacket, paused and looked at her. "'Talk dirty?'" he repeated in that quizzical tone of his. "Explain."

"You know," said Nyota, bending to remove her lavender sling-backs. Cute as they were, it felt good to be out of them. She flexed and pointed the toes of her right foot, grinned as the joints popped. "In bed."

"Dirty?" Spock said again and quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Filthy," said Nyota. "Um, lewdly. Lasciviously. During sex. I take it you don't."

"As far as I am aware," Spock said, as if she had asked a very serious question, "it is not customary among my people. However, on the subject of sexual intercourse, Vulcans are comparatively – some would say notoriously – private. It is entirely possible that some engage in this…"

"Dirty talk," Nyota supplied brightly. Wow, she was feeling giddy. She hadn't had _that_ much wine with dinner. Just a glass. It seemed wrong to drink when her date didn't, but Gaila had said, "If this mystery man of yours is really taking you to Berenice's, _promise_ me that you will try their cabernet. They get it from this local vineyard, and, I swear, it's better than sex. Maybe not sex with _me_ , but better than sex with most people." She'd been right, too. About the cabernet being excellent. Not the sex. As far as Nyota knew. 

By now Spock had his jacket off and was draping it neatly over the back of a chair. As Nyota watched with great interest, his long fingers started to work on the topmost button of his shirt.

"Let me," she said. His fingers were far more nimble than hers at the moment, but that wasn't the point. She wanted to touch him.

"Perhaps," he said, his voice low, his breath warm and minty – they'd grabbed a handful of peppermints on the way out of the restaurant and fed them to each other on the walk back to his apartment, "it would help me to understand this practice if you supplied me with a few examples."

A flush swept up her cheeks. _That_ , she knew, had nothing to do with the wine. She cocked her head back to see his face. His expression was inscrutable as ever. 

"Well," she said, flicking open a few more buttons, "for example, I might tell you how much I love touching your … skin." That was not the organ she’d been thinking of, but to her dismay she’d found herself faltering at the last second. She couldn't look into those frank brown eyes and say dick or cock or any of the other dozen or so slang terms she knew. Which made her feel incredibly juvenile. Worse: prudish. She couldn’t say penis, either. Well – she _could_ , of course, but it wasn’t an especially sexy word. Not that dick or cock _were_.

Why had she broached this topic, anyway? _The wine,_ she thought. And probably Gaila’s voice, still fluttering around in her head. Gaila had kept asking questions about her date - what's he into, what does he look like, how are his kisses - while she helped Nyota curl her hair. 

_What's he_ into? Nyota had asked, turning in her chair and raising her eyebrows.

 _You know,_ Gaila had replied with a suggestive wink. And then she'd proceeded to rattle off a list of kinks, some of which Nyota had never even heard.

 _I don't know,_ she'd said, blushing helplessly, when Gaila finally paused for breath.

Standing in front of Spock, holding his shirt open, Nyota wished she'd thought this through. She also wished, not for the first time, that Vulcans were just a little more expressive. Not that she wanted Spock to be anything other than what he was, but she couldn’t help thinking that if he would only laugh at her, or look even vaguely annoyed, she wouldn’t feel quite so at sea.

At length he said somewhat stiffly, “I too experience a most pleasant sensation when touching your … skin.”

Nyota groaned inwardly. But she made herself smile and say, “That’s right.”

“What is the purpose of this ‘dirty talk’?”

“Well,” said Nyota, “it can be fun. And stimulating.”

Spock frowned mildly. “And yet,” he said, lifting a hand to touch her flushed cheek, “unless I am mistaken, your increased blood flow would indicate embarrassment. Though I do find _most_ of our conversations to be quite fascinating, I suspect that this is not the desired effect.”

“No.” Nyota toed the carpet awkwardly. His slight emphasis told her what she needed to know: he wasn’t getting this. “Never mind. It isn’t important.”

“It is, however, a human custom, is it not? And one that interests you.”

Was he teasing her, or genuinely curious? She suspected it was a little of both. “It’s a human custom,” she admitted. “Though I don’t know how many humans actually indulge in it. As for me… I’ve done it a few times. With … varying degrees of success.” A slight exaggeration; her only truly successful attempt at dirty talk had been with Fingal, the Irish boy she’d dated during her summer at Oxford, and she was half-convinced that it had been his lilting accent, rather than his words, that had gotten her off. She glanced up in time to see Spock cock his eyebrow. 

“I see,” he said after a moment or two of awkward silence. “The purpose of this exercise is to induce stimulation through the verbal description of certain sexual acts. I might, for example, tell you that the sensation I experience when touching your breasts is … most pleasant.” He slid his fingers under the straps of her dress and pushed them gently down over her shoulders. She shivered at the brush of silk, and felt her nipples harden even before he cupped her breasts.

“Your reaction,” he continued in a hushed tone, “would indicate that it is pleasant for you as well.”

“Yes,” she said. “I like the way your hands feel. They’re so warm.”

“That,” said Spock, tilting his head toward hers, “is due to a Vulcan’s superior circulatory system.”

Nyota wrinkled her nose. “That’s not sexy.”

“It is accurate.”

“Tell me something else.”

“Very well.” He was stilling holding her breasts in his cupped hands, stroking her thoughtfully through the lace of her strapless bra. “When I touch you in this manner, your respiratory rate increases to approximately thirty-five breaths per minute. Your pulse rate accelerates as well. At this moment, it is seventy-one beats per minute.”

His voice was low and smooth, his breath warm against her neck. “At this point,” he murmured, “vasocongestion occurs. Your external genitals become engorged – as I observe – while production of vaginal lubrication increases. Your cervix and uterus—”

“Spock,” she interrupted. 

He lifted his head. For half a second, his brow creased with what might have been consternation. “Am I doing it incorrectly?”

“Not exactly.” Smiling ruefully, she touched his chest, petting the glossy black whorls of hair. Before Spock, she’d never been drawn to hirsute men. She could feel the rapid flutter of his heartbeat. 242 was the resting average, she knew. She didn’t bother counting. “The thing is,” she said, “‘vasocongestion’ just isn’t a sexy word. Neither is ‘engorged,’ really. I know it’s accurate, but dirty talk should really be a little more colorful.”

“Nyota.” He let go of her breasts and dropped his hands to her hips, drawing her closer. “I have read much of your literature, including,” he surprised her by adding, “twenty-nine works that were classified as Erotica. I have listened to your music and attended many theatrical productions, both live and holographic. And yet, I cannot tell you which words, in your language, would be considered ‘sexy’ and which would not. I understand the structure of your language. My vocabulary is extensive, my grammar excellent. And yet, there are many nuances that elude me. You must forgive me.”

“Oh, Spock.” She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “It’s all right. It was just an idea." She hugged him tightly. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I disagree,” Spock said. “You were curious. One cannot learn if one does not seek answers. I am not offended, if that is your concern.”

“Good.” She held him for a few moments longer. Then she pulled back slightly and looked up into his face. “Actually,” she said, “one of the things I find really sexy about you is your excellent grammar. You don’t know how I grind my teeth when someone confuses fewer and less or lay and lie. But you seem to go out of your way to avoid ending a sentence with a preposition. And I find that very sexy.”

Again Spock raised his eyebrow.

“My roommate thinks I have strange taste,” Nyota said.

“Your roommate’s assessment is incorrect.” 

“Oh?”

“Indeed.” Keeping one hand on her waist, Spock slid the other into her hair, tangling the loose curls around his fingers. “It is my considered opinion that your predilection for correct grammar is not only understandable but commendable. Moreover…” He began to walk her toward his bedroom. “Now that there are fewer misconceptions between us, I invite you to lay aside your concerns – as I believe the idiom goes – and lie down … so that we may continue this discussion in comfort.” 

Her heart seemed to stutter. Despite all her natural grace, her ankles somehow twisted beneath her, so she almost stumbled.

“I observe,” Spock said in a voice so velvety, it was almost a purr, “that your pulse rate has accelerated to eighty beats per minute.”

Nyota flung her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily on the mouth.

5/6/2012


End file.
